


Luxuria

by ColorfulStabwound



Series: Draco Malfoy Presents the Seven Deadly Sins [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Lust, Luxuria, M/M, POV First Person, Seven Deadly Sins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-12 02:50:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4462655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorfulStabwound/pseuds/ColorfulStabwound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We will drown on this lust that binds us, or die trying.</p><p>Die trying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Luxuria

**Author's Note:**

> Because Draco wants in on that Seven Deadly Sins action too!  
> xD
> 
> As always, endless love and adoration for my muse in all literary things, Unkissed. Their Theodore makes my Draco crazy in the BEST possible ways. <3

 

> _Stuck between the do or die, I feel emaciated._  
>  _Hard to breathe I try and try, I'll get asphyxiated._

 

Sometimes I wonder how I became this way. I can spend hours sitting behind my desk or lying awake in the darkness as I think back over my life and try to pinpoint the exact moment that things changed for me. Was it the first time he kissed me? Was it that night in Morocco? Or am I not looking back far enough at all?  Maybe it was that very first moment that we met. I will never forget the way his gaze made me feel _so_ small. Growing up, I came to appreciate that cutting stare that only magnified with each passing year and I think that I even yearned for it; yes, even back then. I was a child playing grown up games but my mind and soul will always remember.

 

It took me a long time to get where I am today, and as I stand here, staring out the window at a sleeping skyline, I can’t help but wonder if it will ever be enough. As if by the sheer power of my thoughts I hear a rustle of fabric behind me and I cannot help but smile because I know he feels it too.

 

When I glance over my shoulder I am greeted with a cerulean gaze that understands the words that I do not yet say. His hair is tangled from the sleep that still clings to him, cradling him like the small child that still hides somewhere inside of him. I turn around to face him and press my body against the cool panes of glass that divide our world from the one beyond the windows and we regard one another carefully, silently ticking off the minutes until everything changes.  I make a show out of smoking one of his cigarettes because I cannot help myself and he bites his lip because he isn’t sure which need is more pressing— _Nicotine or lust._

 

The press of smoke against my lungs exacerbates the string of emotions that connect us to one another like a fine thread and although my exterior shows very little, I feel every part of me slowly start to catch fire.  It always starts this way, the overwhelming _need_ that I associate with him, and before I can finish the smoldering cigarette caught between my fingertips I am quivering with things like _desire_ and _want._

 

“Come here,” I request in a throaty whisper, and when he shifts on the bed everything else is forgotten, even the crutch of my cigarette.

 

He makes his own, seemingly unassuming show of sliding over the edge of the mattress and dropping his feet to the floor, his gaze never wavering from my own as he slowly crosses the room. I can taste him on my tongue even with the distance still separating us and when his lips curve into a smirk like he knows precisely what I’m thinking, the anticipation stops my breath right in my chest.  

 

“Yes?” He asks with a quirk of his brow as he stops before me, his lips shining.

 

I find it impossible to readily respond and I drop the cigarette still smoking between my fingers and reach for him. My fingertips curl around the back of his neck and firmly bring him closer, his mouth mere centimeters from my own. He recognizes the emotions clouding my gaze for what they are— _Obsession, lust, want, need._ These parts of me don’t scare him because he feels them too; he’s always carried them with him.

 

When I cannot take it anymore I bring his mouth to me and I take everything there is to take, devouring him from the outside in without a second thought. It is futile to resist the _desire_ as it rises up inside of me and spills over; he knows it as well as I and we’ve never been the apologetic types.

 

Thunder claps somewhere beyond the window and I find that amusing because it is a perfect representation of the two of us. His fingertips delineate over my arms and chest, taking the last of my breath right from within my lungs and leaving me gasping desperately for air as our lips part. There is pain in the absence of connection and when my brows crease with unvoiced despair he understands. He knows that I lack the control sometimes and he accepts that, which only serves to heighten the desperation.

 

It is the need to regain that control that has me curling my fingers firmly around his forearms and twisting us around, reversing our positions. He lets out a tiny gasp of surprise that makes my insides soar and I take it a step further, pressing his front to the glass window. He is quickly reduced to a string of needy whimpers and it fuels the fire that scorches every inch of me—I never want him to stop making those sounds that are just for me.

 

“Please,” he whispers with his eyes squeezed shut, and his cheek is pressed so perfectly against the glass panes that the beauty of the moment physically hurts my heart.

 

I know what he wants. We’ve been playing this game for so many years that he doesn’t need to beg anymore—Thursdays, of course.

  
But this isn’t about that at all…

 

When I press myself against him he shudders softly and I smile because it has never been more apparent that we are practically the same person as it is right now. Slowly I drop delicate kisses to his shoulders and the nape of his neck that serve no other purpose but driving him mad. If he can feel just a fraction of the _desperation_ that I do on the daily then I will consider this moment a success.

 

“Draco, please.” He says again, and the needy octave he has adopted is like music to my ears.

 

I say nothing as I continue my torturous plight, intent on making my obsessive _need_ and his, a singular monstrosity. When he can no longer take it he squirms impatiently, and I soothe him with a solitary fingertip down the center of his spine. His body stills between the window and my own because he is eager to please and obey, but again, this isn’t about that at all.

This is the way that I quench the unattainable thirst that dries my throat and cracks my lips, or at least the way that I try. I will gorge on his _desperation_ and _desire_ until I’ve had my fill because it makes me feel slightly more human, and even then, I am not so sure.

 

By the time our two bodies are connected as a singular vessel there are tears in my eyes and he is drowning beneath the weight of sweet relief. I take him slow and methodical because it frustrates him, but also because it extends the reach of my _obsession_ just a little bit farther. His fingers are splayed out like paper fans against panes of glass that hide nothing at all and he takes everything I have to give because he needs this just as much as I do.

 

If I possessed the power to stop time it would be this exact moment that I would choose. The never-ending reel of emotions that filter across the half of his face that I can see are like the sweetest gifts and I devour those too because I need it all. He makes me crazy and desperate and sometimes I wonder what kind of life I could possibly hope to lead that doesn’t involve submersing myself inside of him for all eternity. I have always been selfish and needy and Theodore does nothing, if not feed those parts of me.

 

How do I tell him that I will always be this starved animal?

 

Perhaps he already knows.

 

Suddenly the world comes crashing down at my feet and he is groaning my name on repeat in a way that curls around my throat like a fist. His skin is a mottled portrait of reds and pinks and I want to press my lips against every inch of him, even though he reads like sated exhaustion.

 

When he turns around to face me he smiles into our kiss because he recognizes that hunger that still burns behind my eyes and it makes his insides soar.  He feeds off my _need_ in ways that are not far from my own and when his fingers twist in my hair, my lips twitch with an understanding that is mirrored right back at me. 

 

We share every emotion, every experience, because we are connected on levels that most only dream of.

 

We will drown on this _lust_ that binds us, or die trying.

 

Die trying.

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics: Come Home; Placebo


End file.
